A Fathers' Tale
by DreaminShadows
Summary: This story is set after Will's time at the Baltimore State Hospital for the criminally insane. He has got out of prison because of an unconsciousness claim but his encephalitis was not fully cured. Thus, he has still not realized who Hannibal really is. Back at home, Will agrees to continue his work with the FBI to find out what has really happened to his surrogate daughter Abigail
1. Overture- A sweet melody

Chapter 1: Overture- A sweet melody

Hannibal roamed through the chambers of his memory palace. He walked through the corridors, his steps echoing of the marble floor, his fingertips stroking along the walls.

His palace was beautiful, elaborate, like everything that he loved and decorated with as much detail as the houses he possessed in real life.

The doctor slowly strode through a cathedral-like room that was filled with piles of books from floor to ceiling.

He felt numb, devoid of emotion.

He had been missing a part of his life for too long. He had wanted to test Will, to prove if he was worthy of his attention, his love. But now he felt like this test had required too much from both of them.

In the process, he had not only lost the person who was dearest to him, but also a daughter.

Since Will had been apart from him, Hannibal had spent a great amount of his time here, in his palace. He had neither been able to go to the opera or to throw a dinner party and socialize with Baltimore's elite like he usually loved to do.

No, instead he had been thinking about ways to unmake what he did and to free Will from prison. It was the only way to get him back- and to fix him. Hannibal had heard that Will's encephalitis was still not fully cured and he worried for his friend, who was, like Hannibal, caught up in his own world right now.

Something close to the floor caught Hannibal's eye. Kneeling down he recognized a photo sticking out of a book. He picked it up, wiped the dust off it and read the title: _The tale of Achilles and Patroclus_ was written in golden letters on the binding.

He carefully pulled out the photo and a sad smile immediately curved his lip. The picture had been taken just after he had been attacked by Tobias Budge, a friend of one of his patients, who had turned out to be a dangerous psychopath.

Hannibal had taken care of this rude person-in self-defense, of course-but the FBI had insisted on taking photographs of the crime scene. And looking through them the doctor had stumbled across a real treasure: Will had shown up after Hannibal had sent him to the psychopath's lure and rushed to his psychiatrist's side to make sure he was all right. Hannibal could still remember how relieved he had been that Will was still alive, that he had passed the first test. And he could recall seeing the same emotion reflected in Will's eyes. They had just sat there for a long time and locked eyes.

The photo showed Hannibal, a little more rumpled and bloody than usual, sitting behind his desk while the younger profiler crouched on the wooden surface with an adorable smile on his lips, both seeming unable to turn their gazes away from the other.

Hannibal sighed heavily, a small, dangerous smile playing around his mouth.

A sweet, eerie melody began to play somewhere in the darkness of his palace. Following the sound, he preceded further into the lingering shadows to wake the monster sleeping in one of the chambers.

He would get Will out of this prison; he would be free and by his side again. They would be reunited. He would make sure of it.


	2. A late night meeting

Chapter 2- A late night meeting

When Will arrived at the doctor's house it was late. Actually too late.

But after being unable to sleep and rolling restlessly around in bed, he had decided the only way to calm himself down was to make the long drive from his home to Baltimore and talk to the lone person he knew would understand him-his psychiatrist.

Will had of course called beforehand. He'd found out not long ago that Dr. Hannibal Lecter did not like surprises very much. "Take your time," he had said. "I'll be in the library, awaiting your arrival."

When Will stepped out of the car, the sky had turned a dark, lurking black that seemed to swallow up the beautiful, expensive mansions that lined the road. His gaze immediately found Dr. Lecter's house- he had been there many times before, when Jack or the FBI found it necessary to consult the renowned psychiatrist in one of their cases. That had been before he was arrested, of course.

The mansion with its elaborately manicured front lawn, the stairs that led up to the porch and the small roof that rested on pillars and stretched over the entrance gave Will a strange feeling of security, of home.

He made his way to the door, knocked, but nobody answered. After the third attempt he turned the door knob and to his surprise, the door swung open.

"Dr. Lecter?" he called into the darkness of the corridor. No answer.

A shimmer of light caught his eye. Will followed it to a half-opened door, behind which he glimpsed a gigantic room. Its walls were covered in book shelves. The few remaining spots were decorated with dark red tapestry and expensive paintings in golden frames. The library, Will thought.

He stepped inside the room as silently as he could and tried to close the door behind him, when-

"William." a soft voice said.

He turned around to see Dr. Lecter sitting in a chair by the fireplace that faced the door. He looked calm and relaxed, lounging in the chair in a black suit which he had paired with a dark pink shirt and a black waistcoat, the personification of handsomeness. His tie was missing and Will found it oddly hard to draw his gaze away from the bit of exposed skin at the doctor's neck.

With one hand, the psychiatrist was holding a book, the other grasped a glass of red wine, from which he now elegantly took a sip, his eyes never leaving Will, who stood in the door and felt a bit out of place in his sweaty plaid shirt and his worn out jeans.

"Please, take a seat." Hannibal finally said. Will settled in the chair opposite Hannibal's and felt instantly less exposed.

"What brings you to me? You sounded quite out of breath on the phone." Hannibal shot him a concerned look.

Will, suddenly nervous, took off his glasses, ruffled through his hair and put them back on. "I…you know I haven't been feeling well recently, and tonight I…had a nightmare again. I just don't know how I'm supposed to ever sleep again. Abby…Abigail…I see her so often lately…I'm…I'm afraid to lose my mind." He avoided to meet the doctor's eyes.

Hannibal stared at him; he slightly inclined his head and then slowly, teasingly asked: "What would you suggest me to do?"

Will felt the warmth crawl to his face and spread throughout his body. He slowly raised his head and managed to stare back into those deep maroon eyes that seemed to mock him. Scared that the older man might notice, he forced himself to make his voice sound angry and strong, despite his nervousness.

"Aren't you the psychiatrist here?! How should I know?"

Hannibal reacted very little. Clearly unimpressed by Will's fake anger, he changed the position in his chair, which caused his jacket to open slightly and gave the profiler a good view of his tum stretching the waistcoat. He was smiling now, openly teasing the other man.

God, Will thought, the bastard sure knows how good he looks.

"First of all," the doctor said, stood up and made a show of pouring some wine in a second glass, offering Will a good view of his behind, "you should relax. Spend the evening with me." He turned around and offered Will the glass. "Do you agree?"

Will felt a bit dizzy, blood was rushing to places where it should not go. He could only manage to nod and to take the glass out of the doctor's hand. When their fingers accidentally touched, he nearly jumped.

"Good boy." Hannibal grabbed a blanket and covered the profiler with it.

"What are you doing?," he demanded to know. It did not sound nearly as angry as he had wished.

Hannibal smiled and sat on the armrest of Will's chair. His leg brushed Will's arm seemingly casually. Seemingly, because the profiler highly doubted that a man like Hannibal Lecter who was so in control of everything, did something without a purpose.

"Here." Hannibal said and handed Will the wine. "It is a Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboamfrom 1945, a very nice red wine that will help you sleep."

He leaned in closer and whispered into Will's ear: "Makes the nightmares go away."

Will could not help but shiver at the touch of the doctor's lips on his ear. He turned to look into his psychiatrist's face.

He was so close that he could perfectly see every small wrinkle on his skin. His gaze drifted down from the red spots in his maroon eyes to the perfect arch of Hannibal's lips. That was when his heartbeat picked up speed.

Hannibal licked those full lips, smiled and turned slightly away to open his book again.

"Do you know what I am reading, William?"

When Will shook his head, now distracted by Hannibal's right arm that he had subtly placed on the head rest close to Will's skull, the doctor showed him the binding of the book and explained: "It is a tale of two Greek heroes, you might have heard of them before. They were called Achilles and Patroclus. They both fought in the Trojan war together. Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone."At that Hannibal shot him a meaningful look.

Will swallowed hard at the obvious implication and took a gulp of the wine. "Will you read it to me?," he asked , his voice going husky.

Hannibal lifted a brow and Will noticed a small smile twisting around his mouth.

"Of course, if you wish. But first of all," he raised his glass, "to your freedom." He paused midway and shot Will's half-empty glass a look.

Gracefully, the doctor got up and poured some more wine for him.

"I am not really free. I mean, I am but…they all think I'm crazy," Will stuttered and tried not to meet the older man's eyes.

"No one is without flaws, William. You do not have to blame yourself for what happened. And even if you do not consider yourself free, I, for one, appreciate to see you out of prison."

As their glasses touched, their gazes met and Will noticed how dark Hannibal's eyes turned when he took a sip. They looked almost…hungry.

"Would you hold that for me?," the doctor asked as he shuffled closer and shoved the book in Will's hands.

He was so close now that the profiler could feel the psychiatrist's breath on his neck. Hannibal threw the blanket over both of them and started reading.

The following hour, Will started to feel as cozy as if he was curled up with his dogs on his bed in his small house. Hannibal had a mesmerizing reading voice, which was no surprise considering how powerful the man usually talked. Will admired his big, strong hands that turned the pages with such grace and could not help to be less fascinated with the story, but with the man who carefully cradled him like he was a fragile piece of china.

Hannibal only ever paused to pour some more wine for him and Will. It had not been long and they had finished the whole bottle and started drinking whisky instead. Will could feel the warmth of the alcohol spread out throughout his body, warming it from the inside and making him feel more lightheaded with every minute that passed.

It was just as the doctor had decided to open another bottle of his precious wine-after they had run out of whisky-that something in Will stirred. When the psychiatrist leaned in again to turn around the last page, Will grabbed his hand and kissed his neck. Hannibal froze for a moment then looked at him with curiosity and undeniably- desire.

Will, feeling suddenly very brave, took the psychiatrist's face and planted a kiss on his perfect mouth. When their lips touched he felt a shock wave run through him. For the first time in months, his nightmares and fears were very far away. His heartbeat sounded like a drum in his ears when Hannibal returned the kiss.

The doctor's strong arms enveloped Will to draw him even closer. Hannibal's lips felt surprisingly soft and had a spectacular sweet taste that reminded the profiler of ripe pomegranates.

And there was something else…a metallic taste that was awfully familiar to Will. _Blood._ The doctor had bitten his lower lip, encouraging him to open his mouth, to give himself entirely to Hannibal.

Will, feeling lightheaded and helpless in the older man's arms, decided that he had no choice and parted his lips, inviting Hannibal inside. He licked the other's bottom lip, enticing, luring him. It took not long and Hannibal met Will's tongue with his own and pushed into the profiler's mouth, savoring and tasting him now in return.

A rush of pleasure made Will feel so dizzy that he had to grab the back of the chair to steady himself. When they broke apart and Will opened his eyes to look into Hannibal's, he suddenly glimpsed something in front of the fireplace.

It could have been just a flicker of light, but what, or rather who, stood there looked like a ghost from the past.

A ghost Will had thought he would never see again. Garett Jacob Hobbs. The man's clothes were torn by bullet holes that seemed to spill blood as Will watched him. White, dead eyes stared at him and a ghastly grin played around his lips.

Will started to shake uncontrollably. He tried to look away, but the hallucination did not leave.

Because it had to be a hallucination, right? But the man who stood right in front of him looked so much like the man the profiler had killed when he had rescued Abigail. Abby.

Tears spilled down Will's face at the thought of his surrogate daughter. He could feel Hannibal watching him, softly talking to him, soothing him. His voice did not reach Will. Where he had gone there were only the dead to accompany him.

It had all been in vain. He had killed Hobbs, but in the end neither him nor Hannibal had been able to safe her. The pain and guilt opened up like a bottomless abyss in front of him.

"Don't go inside Will." Hannibal's voice did finally break through the agony in his head. "Stay with me." The doctor carefully clutched Will's arm, felt his pulse, then he softly put a hand on the empath's cheek to lift up his face.

"No!" Will screamed, kicking around and slapping Hannibal's hand away. "You are as guilty as I am. You could not save her as well! We both failed! Weren't we supposed to be her fathers?!"His voice broke at the last word, turning from a shout to a desperate sob.

"Will," Hannibal said and finally managed to lift up Will's chin and look into his reddened eyes. "What are you seeing? What scares you so much?"

Anger rushed through his veins; he was losing his temper as he rose to his feet, knocking over the wine bottle, making the liquid seep like blood through his clothes. He pointed with shaking hands to the fireplace where Hobbs still grinned at him.

"D-don't you see him? H-he is right there…s-standing right there…I…-his voice broke as he sank down on the Persian carpet and burst into violent sobs.

Hannibal stood up and sighed at the mess. "Will, there is no one here." He knelt by his side. "You are hallucinating again. I was afraid that would happen. This medication can sometimes cause a very strong reaction," he said, shooting the wine a glance.

The profiler did not hear what Hannibal's words. He could not say anything. The only thing that he choked out between his sobs was "Help me. Please".

The doctor sighed again. "Well, well," he said smiling. "We shall get you out of those clothes first or you will catch a cold. Come." He offered his hand to Will, who was barely strong enough to stand on his own feet. Hannibal grabbed his arm and led him up the stairs.

Hannibal enjoyed himself way too much, as he directed Will into the huge, luxurious bathroom. Of course, in this condition the profiler was mostly unaware of the different kinds of Italian marble which constituted the sink, the floor and a part of the walls, or of the golden tap ware and the huge designer shower. It was a pity. But the sight Will offered to him, so exquisitely broken and shaking all over, compensated for Hannibal's bruised vanity.

He turned to Will, who had grabbed the sink to keep himself upright. "You should undress now. We need to get that wine of you."

As Will shook his head, he seemed so vulnerable that it almost amused the doctor. "Don't be silly, William. Don't you trust me? Now be a good boy and undress."

The profiler reluctantly tried to unbutton his shirt but his hand only grasped thin air before it fell feebly back down. Hannibal inclined his head, a small smile curving his lips. "I guess I'll have to assist you then."

He closed the distance between them, like a predator smelling prey. His hands worked down the buttons of Will's shirt slowly, tentatively opening one after another. He admired the view for a second, before dropping the terrible plaid cloth to the floor.

Hannibal unzipped Will's trousers only to be greeted by the profiler's erection that pressed against his cotton boxers. He tried to meet Will's eyes but they were fixed on the floor. "For how long have you hidden that already?," he asked, crouching down and pressing his palm into the bulge.

The doctor could see the blood rushing to the empath's face as he let out a slight moan. "You surely are aware that you won't be able to sleep _in this state_. I suggest to get rid of it. I will gladly assist you."

Before Will could respond in any way, Hannibal had already risen to his feet again, covered his lips with his own and forced his tongue down Will's throat. Just as Will started to melt away, Hannibal undressed himself fast as lightning and dragged the profiler under the shower.

Will could only glimpse a few curls of hair on the psychiatrist's chest, when the hot water was turned on and drowned out every thought.

His boxers were gone in an instant, Hannibal threw them on the marble floor. He could feel Hannibal pressing against him, the doctor's own erection pushing against the bare skin of his back. Long, slender finger wrapped around his shaft, caressing, stroking him. A moan escaped Will's swollen lips.

"I will help you to feel better, William." Hannibal purred into his ear. As his hand took up speed, the psychiatrist started to thrust his hips into the younger man's body, rubbing his length along the tender flesh.

Will bit down on his lower lip and threw back his head, as the brush of the fingers became a frantic rhythm. He pushed up against the touch and heard Hannibal breathing heavily behind him, working his hips faster and faster.

As they came, it was almost simultaneously, Will with a cry and Hannibal with a groan. The Doctor spilled on Will's naked back, while most of the profiler's cum landed on the marble walls of the shower.

The psychiatrist reached up to the shower head and flushed the mess away. He had to hold Will upright so he would not fall over. His consciousness was already fading.

Hannibal carefully led Will out of the shower, towel tried him and put his boxers back on. When the profiler fainted, he lifted him up and carried him to the master bedroom next door. The doctor gently placed Will on the silk sheets, covered him with them and poured some medicine down the throat of the young man.

The psychiatrist went to the fireplace to feed the flames.

To his surprise, Hannibal felt not as good as he had thought. Of course, the evening had been pleasurable. But as he looked at the shaking profiler who was slowly regaining his consciousness, he felt a slight sting. Not guilt, but a very similar emotion. Concern. He was worried that he had broken Will, again.

The doctor sat down next to the profiler and handed him a pill.

"What is this?," he mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion and approaching sleep.

"Just a sleeping pill, William." Hannibal smiled. "I think you deserve your rest after tonight."

Will wordlessly took the pill and swallowed it down. Hannibal sat for a long time by his side and listened to the younger man's soft breathing. When he was sure that Will was almost asleep, he carefully felt the profiler's temperature. It was not close to normal yet.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I dragged you into my world," he whispered softly to the half-asleep Will that was curled up beside him.

"It's not your fault," Will muttered.

No, the doctor thought with a heavy heart. He watched the crumpled figure of the profiler that was half lit up by the glow of the fire. His breathing was already slowing_. _It was my fault indeed. But I appreciate the company.


	3. Unconventional therapy

Chapter 3- Unconventional therapy

One week later, the doctor heard a knock at his office door. He put down his pencil and looked at his appointment list only to find the slot where Will usually had his therapy session.

When he made his way to the door, Hannibal's excitement grew. He had not expected him to return so soon-not after what had happened that night.

As the doctor swung open the office door, he glimpsed the familiar figure of Will, but something on him had changed.

"Good evening, doctor. May I come in?"

With a polite nod, Hannibal beckoned him in.

He took the chance to steal a look at the profiler, who was dressed in a dark red shirt and much more formal trousers, his jacket swept over his arm. Will carried himself with more elegance than before, his glasses had vanished and his curly hair was combed back, revealing an actual haircut.

Hannibal suddenly found it hard to breathe.

He turned around politely, walking over to the two chairs where they had spent so much time of their therapy.

"Please," he said with a gesture towards the chairs, "have a seat. Would you like some wine?"

Will made no move to sit down. Instead he strode across the room to the ladder on the doctor's book shelf and leant against it.

The profiler slightly inclined his head at the sight of the bottle. It was the same wine Hannibal had drunken with him the other evening.

He politely shook his head. "I think I already had enough of it."

He could see a small smile twisting the doctor's mouth before it vanished again. The older man seemed different today, if he did not knew better Will would say Hannibal was nervous. _Excellent._

Hannibal settled down in his chair, turned in Will's direction and asked "So, what brings you here tonight, William?"

Will took his time before answering, enjoying the tension of his opposite.

"Well, you see, since my visit a few days ago, I have been feeling increasingly better. I haven't experienced any hallucinations and I woke up only once per night."

Hannibal's eyes grew dark. He studied Will's face to find any indication of him remembering how the evening had ended.

"I am glad to hear that. Do you recall what happened?"

Will looked the doctor directly into the eye. "Not in all detail, no." He waited till he saw that sly glint of relief in Hannibal's eyes.

"But that was one of the most relaxing showers that I had in my life." The profiler smiled as Hannibal's collected mask began to fall apart in front of his eyes. "And I wanted to thank you for your help," he said, arching his back against the ladder, "personally."

Hannibal got out of his chair, pretending to close the distance between them to make it easier to talk.

As he crossed the room Will loosened the first button of his shirt.

"I would like to continue my therapy with you. Last night I had terrible nightmares again. Seems like," he chuckled as Hannibal grabbed the rung of the ladder next to his head," being apart from you does me no good."

"Yes, it seems so, "the doctor whispered.

Hannibal now closed the distance between them completely, pressing Will into the ladder. The hardness of the wood in his back made the profiler shiver in anticipation and arch into Hannibal's touch, bringing himself closer to the psychiatrist.

"I am glad you came to me with," he looked at Will's obvious erection that pressed against his thigh, "your problem."

"It is always good to see a professional who knows what to do. You taught me that." He could feel the doctor's breath on his skin as the older man slowly, teasingly licked his lips.

"I need help. Your help." Will shuddered as Hannibal's fingers began to wander downwards from his chest to his abdomen as if checking on a patient.

"Will you help me, Dr. Lecter?"

The doctor licked his lips, inclined his head softly and looked at the profiler. "You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will. Are you sure you can do that?"

Will just stared into Hannibal's eyes, his desire burning into the other man's stare. "Are you?"

Hannibal did not answer. Instead he pressed his lips to the younger man's lips. This time, Hannibal did not wait for Will to open his mouth for him. He simply pushed his tongue inside him, hard and demanding, sending shivers down the profiler's spine.

Will held onto the doctor's neck as if his life was in danger, causing the older man just to deepen his kiss and making Will moan in reply.

Heat spread out through his body, making it impossible for the profiler to think, as he tugged at Hannibal's perfectly styled hair, who groaned and bit down on his lower lip in turn. Will could feel the doctor's erection pressing into his own, the thin fabric that separated them causing friction that seemed almost electric.

He suddenly felt dizzy again, but this time it was a result of the adrenaline shooting through his veins and the lack of oxygen rather than drugs in his wine.

The two stumbled for a second, the beat of their hearts like a drum in their ears and fell to the floor, where they gasped for air.

Will landed on Hannibal's chest and breathed in the psychiatrist's aftershave. Propping himself up on one arm, he looked into Hannibal's eyes, that with their dilated pupils looked dark and almost red in the dim light.

"Do you mind to psychoanalyze me, doctor?" he said with a smirk, combing his fingers through Hannibal's ruffled hair.

"I think it would be therapeutic," Hannibal said, tracing his tongue down Will's neck while bracing his body against Will's, sending sensation after sensation through the profiler's system. Will shivered in anticipation.

"Oh, you changed your aftershave. Very wise." The doctor's voice sounded muffled as he breathed hotly against the skin of Will's neck.

The psychiatrist continued his trace downwards, unbuttoning Will's shirt on his way. As he arrived at his trousers, Will's hand stopped him.

Hannibal looked up in confusion.

"Not like this." was all Will managed to say, before he dragged Hannibal's head up and pressed the psychiatrist's lips on his own.

As their tongues battled for dominance, the profiler pulled Hannibal to his feet and to his desk. Without breaking the kiss, Hannibal swept his arm across the wooden surface, sending papers and pens flying across the room.

Will's gaze caught the flying objects and he watched the papers float to the ground for a second too long. They stood in such a harsh contrast to Hannibal's usually controlled nature, his love for order that was reflected in the design of the room as well as in his dressing style. He could not quite place it, but the odd feeling that something was not right nagged at the corner of his mind. If only he knew why he was freaking out so much about some documents-

"Will." Hannibal stared at him with a look in his eyes that Will could not quite sort out. It looked like a mixture of wariness, concern and calculation and it only intensified his suspicious feeling.

"Are you all right? Would you feel better if I'd stop?" The concern in the doctor's voice pulled him back into the present.

"No, God, no, I'm sorry. I just…zoned out. He raised his hand to ruffle through his hair but Hannibal caught it before he reached it. Instead, the doctor pressed his palm to the profiler's cheek and soothingly stroked it with his thumb. The gesture was so sweet that Will felt instantly bad for his distracted mind and his mistrust. There was nothing wrong with Hannibal. He was the one who probably needed a brain scan.

"I told you I'm in need of therapy, "he said finally and choked out a laugh. "So please don't stop. Don't you ever stop."

He could swear to have seen a shadow passing over Hannibal's face at those words, but the doctor had pressed their lips together in a blink of an eye and with the renewed body contact every other thought was wiped from Will's mind.

He pushed Will up on the desk, enveloped him with his strong arms and closed any distance that had ever been between them.

Will was the one to break the kiss and as he looked into Hannibal's eyes he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Like this, now?, "the older man asked.

Will could only nod. He felt the slight edge to Hannibal's tone. The older man did not seem to like being ordered around.

"Good. Are you sure you are feeling well? Did you experience a hallucination again?"

"Are you sure you want to talk about that _now_?," Will asked mockingly and traced his hands down the doctor's trousers. He tried to open his zipper, but Hannibal caught his hands as easily as a child's and held them in a firm grip that made Will inhale sharply.

Hannibal noticed his intake of breath and lifted a brow. He doubled the pressure on Will's wrists and tapped the profiler's chin up so that he could meet his eyes and watch his reaction.

Blood rushed to Will's cheeks. Hannibal's grip made him feel safe but helpless at the same time and he found that he welcomed this feeling.

"_You _wanted therapy. It would be easier for you to answer now. But we can of course drag this out if you wish."

Will let out a sigh. "I did not hallucinate. I did though some days ago. You know that. It is mostly Garrett Jacob Hobbs who I see."

"And how does that make you feel, seeing a person who has died long ago? A person you killed?"

"Haaannibal," Will moaned.

"Will." he said with a firm voice and looked at him with worried eyes.

"Fine, "Will groaned. "I don't know. I know it's not considered morally right to kill a person but Hobbs had murdered all those girls. He killed his wife. Was about to kill his daughter. I guess he had it coming." He shrugged.

"Are we going to hide behind morals now, William? You are avoiding the truth that you feel no regret taking a life. And that realization is haunting you and causing your brain to project your victim over and over again. And at the most inconvenient times, it seems."

He met the profiler's eyes with full force now, swallowing his stare up like the emotional abyss that Will was facing whenever he thought of Hobbs and his daughter.

"You liked killing him, didn't you?"

Will flinched away from the doctor's penetrating gaze.

"Ye-yes. It felt good. Good to end the life of someone who had ended so many lives himself."

"But it makes you feel guilty, because despite all he did, our society does not tolerate murder." It was not a question anymore.

"Yes." When Will met the psychiatrist's eyes this time, it was Hannibal who turned away, but only to gather something up from the floor. As he stood upright again, the profiler noticed a massive yard stick in the doctor's hands. Will looked at it questioningly, but could feel adrenaline rushing through his veins as his brain came up with ideas what Hannibal intended to use it for.

"I have observed your reaction when I pressed your wrists together and your hallucinations and sleepwalking just add up to those observations. You might not entirely realize it yet but you have a strong desire for being punished for what you have done."

"What I have done?, " Will asked, but his voice had already gone hoarse.

Hannibal cocked his head, a mockery of his professional seriousness from before. "You have killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. Left a daughter without her father and her mother. You vowed to protect her. In the end she died as well."

Will felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. It was the truth, he knew it and that made it even worse. The memory of Abigail stung like a knife in his guts.

"Let's do this," he whispered and as soon as the words had left his mouth he could hear the arousal in his voice, blatant and laid open like the organs of the victims at the crime scenes he had consulted on so many times.

Hannibal nodded, a short, curt motion. He lifted his gaze barely from the ground, but in that short moment he could see the smile that lay in the psychiatrist's dark eyes as he balanced the yard stick with one hand. Will watched him methodically rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong and perfectly sculpted forearms.

"Turn around please."

Will obeyed, bent over the desk and lifted his butt instinctively. He felt exposed and uncomfortable, but at the same time, arousal made it hard for him to breathe.

He could feel the psychiatrist's eyes on his behind, as Hannibal commanded:"Undress."

He fumbled with the button for a moment, then the trousers and boxers slid down Will's legs, leaving the profiler feeling even more bare and vulnerable with his flesh exposed to the cold office air.

The cool, hard edge of the desk stung against his throbbing cock and made his breath catch.

Will could feel the ruler being traced softly against his exposed ass, sliding in between his thighs, scraping over sensitive skin. He arched into the touch without a thought.

"Please," he croaked, unable to stand it any longer.

"Please what, William? He could feel Hannibal's breath at his neck as the doctor bent over him.

"Just…give me anything. I need more…more than this anyway." Will's voice sounded choked as one of Hannibal's strong hands pinned him against the desk.

He could feel a soft rush of air, as Hannibal raised the ruler.

"That was not very specific, was it. I think I need to teach you how to express yourself properly."

The first blow ripped Will's breath out of him, a sharp line against his cheeks, making him loose his balance and tumble against the surface of the desk. He clutched at the leftover papers and gasped for air but the pain did not last long.

The next stroke cut across the first, drawing a diagonal line from the left to the right. It left him panting, his cock leaking slowly on the desk's surface.

"Now? What is it that you want William?" Hannibal's voice, sounding raw, barely controlled, while he ran his fingers over the swollen flesh.

Will drew in a staggering breath. The pain was already receding, leaving him empty. "I want…more."

Hannibal tsked at his vagueness.

"Fine. I want you to beat me. Harder." He could feel his face flushing in embarrassment.

In response Hannibal dug his nails in the already forming welt. The profiler sucked in air sharply and threw his head back.

The next strokes came harder, layered over the others with more precision, burning white-hot pain into Will's skin. Will had to grab the full length of the desk to keep himself upright. His arms and legs were shaking with the effort but his arousal grew with the strain of his muscles. By the last stroke his cock was so painfully pressed against the sharp edge of the desk that he cried out in pain and pleasure.

When he realized how loud he had been, Will whimpered in embarrassment.

"Shh, "the Doctor soothed. He reached forward and slipped two fingers into the profiler's mouth to calm him. Without thinking, will began to suck and felt himself relaxing again.

"I'm not finished yet," said Hannibal. Will felt him crouching down, one elegant hand placed on Will's ass and then he felt his mouth pressed to the damaged skin, licking and mouthing at it.

"Oh my god," Will moaned around the fingers in his mouth.

Hannibal's teeth scraped over the tender red lines, making his cock jerk. He did it again, harder and harder, until Will was panting and dizzy, pressing his behind into the psychiatrist's face, rocking back into his touch.

"How does it feel ?," the Doctor asked mockingly his tongue pressed wet and slippery between his cheeks.

"Nggh," was all the profiler could choke out. Hannibal bit down hard in response, making Will jerk forward and fall back on the desk.

"We talked about precision before. Now tell me, "he said and pinched the swollen skin between his fingers, "how does it feel?"

Will's breaths came raggedly, he had put one fist into his mouth to keep himself from crying out. He drew in slow breaths until he could talk again. "It hurts, God, it hurts so much. But it feels so good as well. Y-You should go on, I can take it." His voice was raw with arousal and strain.

He waited for a few long seconds but nothing happened. Then Hannibal's strong arms came up around his waist, embracing him and lifting him fully to his feet.

It was only then as they were standing so close pressed against each other that Will noticed how much his legs trembled. Blood sang in his ears.

"Hannibal, really, "he whispered his voice still raw, "I can take it. I really can."

"Shhh," the Doctor said, sounding as much out of breath as Will. "I don't think you are in a fit state to take any more. That is enough for today."

Will could not help to press himself into the other man, rubbing against him despite the sting of his abused skin against the fine fabric of Hannibal's trousers, his whole body jolting at the contact. The doctor was still hard as well, the length of his erection pushing against Will's thigh.

The doctor nuzzled against the empath's neck, inhaling deeply as if drinking in his smell.

"You were beautiful just now, "Hannibal rasped, his voice harsh with arousal. "Panting and whimpering, begging for more. You are so responsive even to the smallest touch." At that he licked a wet line along Will's neck and when he reached the collarbone he bit down hard.

The profiler moaned, tipped his head back and sucked in air through his nose.

Then Hannibal let him go, just like this, he took a few steps and began to collect the papers that were spread all around the office.

Will tried to dress hurriedly, but the fabric sliding over his sore ass made him suck in the air between his teeth a couple times. Each time he made a small noise he could see the edge of Hannibal's mouth turning into a smug smile.

When Will was finally zipped up again, he sat down on the edge of the desk and stared down at his feet, suddenly feeling out of place again. Hannibal's smile faded as he watched him.

"What I have said before about Abigail does not only apply to you. I miss her a great deal as well. No day goes by when I not think about how it would be if she was still here. Maybe then some things could have been prevented."

Will felt sick at those words. He had tried not to think about Abigail, tried to forget everything, let it all be washed away by the pain and the pleasure that Hannibal had inflicted. He gulped.

"You were right before. I couldn't save her." Tears stung in his eyes, his throat felt raw. "And after she was gone…no already before that…I totally lost control. I can't remember what I did. But you know what's written in the police report. You know that they say-"

Tears were streaming down his face now. He was sobbing and shaking like a small kid the moment when Hannibal was at his side. The doctor laid and arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist.

"You are not the only one at fault Will. I have promised to care for her as well, she was my charge. I did not realize what was happening to you. We have both failed our duty."

He sounded so sad and helpless that Will bent forward and kissed him.

When Will got out of the car, his front door opened and the dogs pooled out on his porch. After them followed a slightly exhausted looking Alana, but a grin appeared on her face the second she spotted him.

"I tried to keep them company by running with them over the fields, but they've been missing you a lot."

She knelt down to tickle Winston's head who tried to lick her face in return.

"Thank you for taking care of them, "Will said while some dogs tried to climb into his lap and the others sniffed around him excitedly.

"That was a particular long therapy session it seems. How did it go? Any progress?"

She raised her brows playfully.

Will thought of Hannibal's tongue, hot and wet and searching and of his sore skin, a burning reminder that he belonged to Hannibal now.

He tried to avoid her eyes. "Uh, yeah, I think so."

After they had said their goodbyes, Will led the dogs inside where they settled at their respective places in front of the fireplace. He went into the kitchen, took some aspirin and tried to calm his nerves.

Just as he was about to settle down on the bed, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Jack. With a sigh he picked up.

"We've found another body, "he said not bothering with a greeting. "I want you at the scene as soon as possible."

He gave Will the directions and seconds later he sat in his car again and was driving back to Baltimore.

The corpse had been found in the middle of a park. The man had been positioned on his knees, hands tied behind his back with a silken scarf that had been wrapped around the massive tree behind him.

The sight of the silk pulled at Will's memory, but he forgot all about it as he took in the whole sight of the body.

The man was young, probably in his thirties, his curly dark brown hair was halfway caught under a blindfold that covered his eyes. He was naked, his back arched as if his mouth was longing to touch the lump that hung from a string in front of his face. Only that it was not a lump.

Will swallowed. He could feel the ground sway under his feet as he noticed the gaping hole in the man's chest. He had been displayed as trying to devour his own heart.

The string that held the organ had been decorated with fishing lures, on his head he was balancing his own brain, its whorls on display to the world.

Every thought laid open, nothing hidden anymore, Will thought.

"Not a nice sight, huh?" Beverly had stepped between him and the mutilated body, blocking the view. He had never been more thankful to her. "Seems like someone's bed adventures didn't end well."

Despite the horror that was still stuck in his bones he had to laugh. "I wish it was like that. Did you find anything?"

She shook her head. "Not a thing. His kidneys are missing. Jack thinks it's the Ripper again."

Will rubbed at his forehead. His headache had returned. "What is with his eyes?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's wearing a blindfold. Don't you think chances are high that the killer tried to cover something up with it?"

She looked a bit skeptical at him but walked over to Price and Zeller who were inspecting the fishing lures. He turned away to think and ran straight into Jack.

"Will, good you're here. What do you think? Is it the Ripper?"

"I don't know. It might be him. I'll need some time to think to figure it out."

Just as Jack turned around to clear the crime scene, Beverly called them over.

"You were right about the eyes," she said, but her grin from before had vanished. "Seems like we didn't see the full picture."

Will forced himself to look at the man. His eyes were missing and inside the remaining space the killer had placed antlers that seemed to grow out of his brain. On them, he had hung a tiny label that was normally used to mark evidence. In curved letters the murderer had written _See?_ on the piece of paper.

The handwriting tucked at Will's memory in the same way the silk had done before. He clasped his head with both hands, trying unsuccessfully to find the connection.

"Will, are you okay?" Beverly's voice. She looked at him worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just clear up the area and I'll start working."

"That's not the only thing we found." She paused. Jack tapped his feet against the ground impatiently. Will looked up, saw the nervousness in her face.

Price took over for her. "The lures," he said. "They are nearly identical to the ones that we found at Mr. Graham's house."

Will could feel the uncomfortable silence as everyone tried to look everywhere, just not in his direction. "They all contain human remains, hair and teeth of victims of whose murder Mr. Graham is accused of. Marissa Schurr, Georgie Madchen, Dr. Sutcliff, Cassie Boyle, Abigail Hobbs."

The silence at the scene became almost unbearable.

Finally, Jack was the one to break it. "So what you're saying is that there is a possibility that it wasn't Will who murdered all these people? And that the murderer knew that?" Jack frowned. "So what is he trying to do, help Will?"

Everyone looked at Will, who finally got the courage to meet their eyes. "Yes," he said and swallowed hard around the lump in his suddenly sore throat. "I think that is the only logical explanation."

After that, Will tried to get over with his work as fast as possible. The glances the others shot him were almost unbearable.

He could not blame them. He had been declared a threat, mentally unstable and Jack had risked his job more than once to get him back on board.

Now that they had found the lures everything would change. Maybe they would even resume the trial.

He stood in front of the body and tried to block out his thoughts. The killer was now the only thing that mattered.

Layer by layer he unraveled the crime scene, blocked out the faint voices around him and saw how the man before him had been brought here, how his heart had still beaten as it had been cut from his chest with surgical precision.

It was the first organ to be removed, after that he had taken the brain and placed it on the man's head. Both heart and brain were exposed, absorbing everything around the body that usually was their home. The corpse was wearing its brain as a crown, almost worshipful. Like he could think like no one else could.

Still he was blind to what was right in front of him. That was why his eyes had been removed, so that he did not see that the thing his mouth longed to taste was his own heart.

Will opened his eyes. Some puzzle pieces were still missing. He could not quite place the meaning of the antlers or the sexualized posture of the corpse.

Still he knew who had done this, knew it with a sickening certainty.

He stepped forward to inform Jack. He said his goodbyes to Beverly, Prize and Zeller. Then he got into the car and drove home. He took a handful of aspirin. He let the dogs settle around him as he curled himself up on the bed and tried to suppress the thought that the Chesapeake Ripper had for some reason given the FBI enough evidence to rehabilitate him.


End file.
